


Not That Way

by MinionRipley



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3946561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinionRipley/pseuds/MinionRipley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evelyn Trevelyan has never thought of Solas as more than a colleague, until one day she happens upon him fantasizing to thoughts of her. (Note: Story has been heavily revised since 9/20/2015, especially starting around chapter four and on.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Kinks/Warnings: F!Trevelyan/Solas pairing, masturbation, unresolved sexual tension.
> 
> Fill for the kink meme prompt posted [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14591.html?thread=54844159#t54844159).
> 
> Revised chapter posted 1/24/2016.

Evelyn had never thought of him that way.

In her eyes, he was a close colleague, practically a mentor, and very much a good friend. She’d lost count of the hours he’d stayed by her side: guiding her use of the Anchor, protecting her with barriers in battle, discussing magical theory late into the night, even consoling her with quiet encouragement and counsel when the strain of the role of Inquisitor grew too heavy to bear. In spite of their disparate backgrounds – he an apostate and she a Circle mage – they had fitted one another nearly too well since the start.

“Like tea and cake,” Josephine had said one afternoon meeting, with a teasing glance as she set down her cup on a saucer. Leliana’s lips turned in a knowing smile, and Cullen coughed.

Evelyn had only chuckled in return. A silly thing, she’d thought.

Besides which, the comparison did stand – despite how much Solas disliked the former, as she later discovered with some amusement – and she knew more than a few of her companions wondered if the reality went further. It was difficult to miss Dorian’s raised brow every time she walked up from the rotunda or Varric’s trailing requests for inspiration for a new romance serial. It was even harder when Iron Bull suggested several titles.

Of course she had denied it, but that hadn’t helped. Not when she went to him for every scrap of advice, or when they bent so close over books that their shoulders touched, or when she asked him on every venture – and there was yet to be one he had denied – and they always found themselves sharing a tent.

It was just… _natural_ , she had believed. She’d never questioned it.

And how could she? In the Circle, one didn’t dare such a thing with friends and associates. Within the echoing halls and crowded libraries, whispers abounded, and the balance of power too often swayed on rumors. There were too many chances for feelings to sour or an age-old rival to catch wind of a weakness. And then if the templars discovered it… No, she knew too many stories of separations, of worse.

Dalliances worked better. A quick agreement, a few minutes found in a closet or a forgotten alcove, a release, and that was all. No attachments, no risks.

It hardly mattered that she was no longer in a Circle, nor was any mage for that matter. For her, the rules hadn’t changed. The title of Inquisitor – of Herald, even if she doubted it – was a heavy one, and eyes watched her every breath. A romantic relation – especially with someone she worked alongside – was out of the question while facing demon armies, a possible archdemon, and whatever else Corypheus had up his sleeve.

So she never imagined it.

Then, one afternoon – like any other, the sounds of soldiers sparring in the training yard resounding through the keep – she bumped into Leliana just as she was leaving Cullen’s office after a report on the troops. They both gasped in shock as the impact scattered the papers Leliana had been carrying into the air.

“Oh, Leliana!” Evelyn cried, scrambling to catch several of the sheets. “I’m sorry. I had no idea you were coming this way.”

Leliana recovered in an easy, graceful motion and caught the rest. “It’s the bard training,” she replied, a small smile on her lips. “I’m too used to never making a noise. Nothing to apologize for.” She accepted the offered pages from Evelyn with a nod. “But, if you wouldn’t mind…” She flicked through the papers before pulling out one and handing it over. “The latest account of the Veil measurements from the elven artifacts,” she explained. “I was going to stop by. Would you please give it to Solas for me?”

Evelyn frowned, pinching the sheet between her fingers. “Why do you think I’ll see him so soon?”

Leliana only lifted an eyebrow in return.

Evelyn sighed. “All right, yes, I’ll give it to him.”

Leliana nodded her thanks, and Evelyn hurried away before the spymaster could speak further. She pointedly ignored the fact that she had been planning to seek out Solas regardless. Partly for a point of Inquisition business, but – honestly – also just to talk. They often met in the early afternoon to discuss the latest matters, but her meeting with Cullen had kept her far later than she had anticipated.

She hurried to the rotunda at a quick step. Though she knew Solas understood the demands of her position, she disliked the thought of making him wait.

It took her less effort than she cared to admit to find the shortest way to the rotunda in the winding keep. Her mind seemed to naturally land upon the fastest route, and her feet were just as quick to follow. At times it felt as though Skyhold itself opened to her, rearranging its stairs and halls just beyond her view. Even so, she had been to the room so many times now she could likely describe the frescoes and furniture in detail.

Less familiar in that room, however, was the person in the chair in the center, feet propped up on the desk as if he owned it, reading a book. He looked up as she entered.

“Dorian?” Evelyn said. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know,” he replied, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I thought a change of scenery would do me good, and this place seemed as fine as any other. Gives me some time away from all the dusty books upstairs and…” He glanced at the volumes Solas had piled up on the desk. “Well. Into other books, at least.”

She couldn’t help the twitch in her own lips. “You do know there’s a garden, right?”

“And miss seeing your face all the hours it’s in here?” he replied. “Perish the thought!”

“It’s not—” Evelyn stifled the sigh rising in her throat. She had discussed this before with him, with everyone at one point or another. Protesting now would only dig herself deeper. Instead she shook her head – a glance at his shoes, almost indolently swaying back and forth on top of the desk – and cleared her throat. “Have you seen Solas by any chance? I need to give him something.”

“Why? Is it a saucy love letter? Shall I proofread it for you? I can give suggestions!”

She rolled her eyes. “Hardly. It’s just a report on Veil measurements.”

“Knowing him, that could still qualify,” Dorian replied with a chuckle. “At any rate, he’s not here. He left about an hour ago. For his quarters, I believe.”

Evelyn didn’t bother to stifle her sigh this time. “Oh,” she said simply. “I’d thought… Never mind.”

She couldn’t expect Solas to wait for her every time, she knew. Still, she had been looking forward to their usual talk, even more so after the reports from Cullen left her all too aware of the people trusting in her for their cause. A cause she still wasn’t sure they would come out of alive, especially with her leadership. But Solas always knew what to say to make her feel ready, if not exactly at ease.

“Do you know when he might be back?” she asked.

“No idea,” Dorian replied. “But you might go check on him. He’d seemed agitated earlier, pacing about the place. I heard him mutter something about needing a rest just as he left.”

Now that he mentioned it, Evelyn did find it odd. While Solas treasured his sleep, he didn’t abandon his duties in the waking world for it. It was possible he had only left to fetch something form his private study, but with a whole hour passed…

Evelyn’s brow furrowed. “Do you think he’s ill?”

Dorian shrugged. “I haven’t noticed anything unusual. Though, honestly, I would be surprised if he so much as sniffled from a plague.”

She considered the information, then nodded. “All right,” she said. “Thank you, Dorian.”

He smiled. “For you, Evelyn? Anytime.”

She turned and left the rotunda, then crossed the main hall beyond. She had only seen Solas’ room once before – nearly two months ago, when he had forgotten an item he’d wished to show her and invited her up – but she still haltingly remembered the path, and Skyhold again seemed to guide her in its strange way. Up the stairs, down the hall and to the rooms overlooking the courtyard, around a corner, then the fourth door on the right.

But there she found the door shut. She tapped a fingertip against the doorframe, thinking, before bending her head to the wood to listen.

Just a breath, or a whisper. Something to tell her he was there, that he was all right.

But it was impossible to hear anything over the clashing of swords in the yard below. The racket smothered any other sound, and especially the softer ones of Solas’ sleep.

Evelyn pulled away and gently tested the latch. Unlocked.

Perhaps the door hadn’t closed completely or he’d simply forgotten, but it offered her an opportunity. She could slip in and leave the report somewhere, all without waking him. Solas valued his privacy, true, but they had slept together in tents so many times now she’d lost track. Surely his quarters weren’t so different? And if she got a chance to check for the heat of a fever in his face, well, it would assure her a little.

And even if he did wake, she was sure he would understand. They’d known each other for over half of a year now, and he knew she harbored no strange intents towards him.

Or at least she never had, until she opened the door.

Solas was indeed on the bed, though not in the way she’d expected. He reclined against the headboard, a pillow stuffed behind his back for comfort. His eyes were closed, his brow pinched and his lips slightly parted, as he bent his head back and his neck arched in a perfect line to his chest. He’d thrown off his tunic and shirt, his upper body bare to the cool air, and his leggings lay bunched below his hips. He clenched a long-fingered hand into the sheet at his thighs, as his other…

Evelyn stared, unable to gasp, barely able to breathe. Maker, she could only think. _Maker_.

Solas strained into his own touch, quiet save for his soft hisses of breath, as his hand moved leisurely back and forth. His body flexed and rolled with the motion in exact harmony, as if he were less a real, living being and more of the idea of one. From his broad shoulders to his narrow hips and beyond, he was defined, well-muscled form. Almost impossibly so, like a master artwork come to life.

And the length of him in his hand… She gaped, powerless to tear her eyes away from the elegant hand running along it, the light shine of oil on his skin, the way his stomach muscles clenched with each stroke. A drop of clear fluid beaded on the tip, as if tempting her to reach out and smooth it over him.

He tightened the fist around himself, and a sparking glow overtook his hand. He groaned something in Elven, his hips twitching and his thigh muscles tensing.

Then: “ _Yes_. Just like that, Evelyn.”

Evelyn stumbled in surprise, and her shoulder hit the doorway with a thump. Solas jerked, his eyes opening, and their gazes locked on one another’s for a brief, horrible second.

Then she whirled on her heel and fled, clutching the paper to her chest like a shield.

“Inquisitor!” Solas’ voice trailed after her. “Wait! I—”

But then she sped around the corner, and the rest was lost in the noise of the courtyard. She kept running, her feet pounding against the stone walkway and then the wooden boards as she burst inside the main hall – ignoring the shocked looks of dignitaries and servants as she bolted past – until she was up the other set of stairs and in her own room.

She let out a gasp as she slammed the door shut and leaned back against it. Her breath hitched – her heartbeat still hard and fast from the sprint – and she forced out a slower exhalation.

Once her breathing had evened, she slid to the floor. She turned and pressed her ear to the door – it was quieter here, and the stairs always creaked – as she waited for the sound of pursuing footsteps. But as the seconds turned to minutes, then to more, and nothing came, her shoulders relaxed, and after another long moment she leaned back again with a sigh.

Then she looked down and realized:

She still had Solas’ paper.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinks/Warnings: F!Trevelyan/Solas pairing, masturbation, unresolved sexual tension.
> 
> Fill for the kink meme prompt posted [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14591.html?thread=54844159#t54844159).
> 
> Revised chapter posted 1/24/2016.

For the rest of the day, Evelyn did everything in her power to avoid Solas. Taking her supper in her quarters rather than the dining hall, lingering around corners for the sound of his voice before entering a room, then ultimately just hiding in her own room as soon as she thought she wouldn’t be missed.

Come morning, she woke feeling very foolish.

She looked across her bedroom and over at the Veil report where she had left it on her desk. It seemed to stare at her, and then she remembered it was only a slip of paper.

She lay back and rubbed her eyes.

 _Ridiculous_ , Evelyn chided herself. She was a grown woman. She had no excuses to be sneaking about like a child avoiding a lecture, much less for a professional – and once perfectly amiable – relationship. Sooner or later, they would have to meet again, even if only over work. She merely put off the inevitable.

Besides, it wasn’t as though she hadn’t walked in on others before. Not _often_ , thank goodness, but enough. The Circles had held little privacy, and what precious modicum there was, the senior enchanters had been quick to hoard for themselves. Mages and apprentices had had to make do with what they could take, and that frequently amounted to quick trysts in alcoves, stolen moments in rarely-frequented library aisles, and bitten lips and thick blankets in the dormitories under the darkness of night. With a partner or but a fantasy – none of it was new to her.

The fact that _she_ was the subject of the fantasy, and that it was _Solas_ in particular…

 _It shouldn’t matter_ , she told herself.

Solas had always conducted himself with the upmost propriety around her. That he had been secretly daydreaming about her hadn’t changed that, so why would this?

 _Evelyn_. He’d moaned her name like a plea, voice low and rough. A rosy flush upon his pale skin and face – so smooth, so flawless, a touch of an ageless grace – that not even the dimness of the drawn curtains could hide. His fingers clenched, his head tipped back, as his abdomen trembled with each stroke of his hand.

She shot up and shook her head to clear the image from her mind.

Awkwardness. That was all this was.

Decided, she rose from her bed, cleaned herself at the washbasin on her nightstand, and donned a simply-styled silk shirt and leather breeches. A quick drag of a comb through her hair, a bite of a now-stale biscuit she’d snuck up to her room the evening before, and then she grabbed the paper and stepped out and down the stairs.

The walk from her room to the rotunda was short – but a straight shot down the main hall and to the left, and then she was at the door. She let out a slow breath and then, steeling herself, knocked.

“Come in,” Solas’ voice called from the other side.

She entered to find Solas standing at his desk, a book in hand.

He started slightly, as if surprised to see her. But it was short-lived, as his composure swiftly slid back into place. He set down the book and straightened with a short nod to her.

She returned the nod and strode over to his desk. “Hello, Solas.”

“Inquisitor,” he said evenly. “Is there something I can help you with?”

A cautious greeting. Most people would have only heard a polite welcome – or even downright warmth for some – but she knew him better than most. She studied him for a long moment.

Was it possible they could just pretend nothing had happened?

“Only this report for you from Leliana,” she replied at last. She stepped closer and held out the paper in her hand. “It’s the Veil measurements you requested.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you,” he said, accepting the report. “I appreciate it.” He glanced over the figures with a small smile of satisfaction.

So different from his expression the other day, she thought, lingering on his lips. How his eyes had been shut, his brow furrowed, and his mouth parted with low, strained breaths, as if completely lost to the vision he’d conjured in his mind.

She swallowed and wrenched her gaze back to his.

He watched her silently with his storm-blue eyes, a curious tilt to his head. She stepped back, uncertain of what more to say and even more uncertain of the images that kept returning.

“W-Well,” she said, and inwardly cursed the waver in her voice, “I’ll just be going then.”

She took another step back, and that was as far as she got.

“Actually, I wondered if we might speak,” Solas said, setting the paper aside. He glanced up at the library, then the rookery beyond. “In private,” he added, then more gently, “if that is all right with you.”

The urge to flee surged in her like a wild bird trapped in a room.

She swallowed again, and her common sense stamped down on the impulse. Avoiding the truth now would only worsen matters. “Yes, that’s fine,” she replied. “Where would you like to go?”

He inclined his head to the way she had come in. “Follow me.”

He took her across the hall and to the garden on the other side. Soon after their arrival to Skyhold, she had chosen to focus the yard on cultivation, and now several months later, in the thick of Bloomingtide, everything was in full leaf. The trees, bushes, and herbs crowded the space, nearly smothering the pathways in several stretches, and the sweet smells of elfroot and embrium overpowered the air. That, coupled with the few gardeners and even fewer visitors, offered a secluded, almost intimate, setting.

He guided her further within, until they were well away from any prying eyes and ears, and to a stone bench half-hidden in vegetation. He gestured to her to sit, and she brushed away several leaves before doing so.

Then, finally, he settled beside her.

Evelyn waited for him to begin, but he seemed to hesitate. A quick glance of his blue eyes to hers, then away, then another glance, before drifting down to his hands at his thighs.

She looked away likewise. Perhaps the discussion would come easier that way.

After another long draw of silence, she asked, “So, you wanted to talk?”

“Yes,” he replied simply.

But there he faltered again, and for a moment she wondered if he would turn the discussion elsewhere after all. The possibility lifted her spirit like a reprieve.

Then at last Solas said, “Yesterday, you saw me in the midst of a… private activity.”

 _To say the least_ , she thought, her cheeks growing warm at the memory. She ducked her head, hoping her hair hid her face, and replied, “I’m sorry. I thought you would be asleep.”

“Asleep?” he asked.

“Dorian said you had muttered something about needing a rest,” she explained. “Your door was unlocked, so I thought I could just drop off the report on the Veil.”

“My door was… Ah.” He paused then, considering. “I apologize. I was distracted at the time.”

Her face burned hotter as he left unsaid by what, or rather whom.

 _How long?_ she wanted to ask. _When did you first think of me? Do you think of me in other ways? Will you still think of me after this?_

But all of those questions led to places she hesitated to venture. Too intimate, too uncertain, a leap into unknowns – which seemed to only multiply the longer she sat beside him – that she couldn’t risk. Not then, perhaps not ever. _Demon armies, missing Wardens, archdemon, Corypheus_ , she reminded herself.

Solas took her silence as a sign for him to continue. “I never meant to burden you with this,” he confessed. “I can only hope for your forgiveness and that we may still be friends.”

She glanced over at him then. He stared ahead, impassive – serene, almost – to a short glance, but there in the furrow of his brow and the sad creases around his eyes she saw more. Not exactly an attempt to hide his emotions, but something of a restraint. She wondered how much more he wished to say.

 _He really does feel badly about this_ , she realized.

She looked down, saw his hand still resting on his thigh, and, before she could rethink it, reached over and squeezed his hand with her own. “Of course we can still be friends,” she said, smiling softly.

He turned to search her gaze. After a long moment, he slowly returned the smile. “Then I—”

“Inquisitor!” Josephine’s voice rang out, cutting him short. “Inquisitor, are you here?”

Solas cast a sharp look at the canopy of leaves, beyond which the ambassador wandered the center of the garden. Too far to have overheard them, but if she insisted – and she was _very_ good at insisting – then it would only be a matter of time before she stumbled upon something.

“Inquisitor!” the ambassador called again. “I have several dignitaries demanding your presence in my office. If you have a few minutes – or an hour, preferably – I would truly appreciate it.”

Evelyn sighed and let her hand slip from his.

Solas offered her a sympathetic half-grin, and something shivered down her spine at the sight. “I had best let you return to your duties,” he said.

“Yes,” she replied, suddenly at a loss for words. “Of course.”

She stood and took a step towards where Josephine still called for her, then paused. A short breath in, and then, before she lost her nerve, she turned back to Solas.

“It’s all right,” she added, quickly. “I don’t mind you thinking of me.”

His eyes widened – an echo of his surprise earlier – but after a moment of consideration he relaxed and nodded, saying nothing in reply. She hesitated, lingering on all still left unspoken, before another shout from Josephine interrupted her thoughts.

“ _Inquisitor!_ ” the ambassador hissed admonishingly. “Don’t make me come looking for you!”

Evelyn sighed, and after a shared look of amusement with Solas, she turned on her heel and finally strode from the thick of the garden and into its center. There, she found the ambassador still restlessly pacing, her writing board in hand and a quill pinched tightly between her fingertips. Not a pleasant meeting ahead, Evelyn assumed, and resisted heaving a wearier sigh.

“Josephine,” she greeted, and the woman whirled to her with a relieved smile. “I’m sorry. I was in the middle of something, but I’m free now.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Josephine replied, leading her back inside with a wave of her board. “I have several dignitaries waiting to speak with you. One is Ser Arnaud Delcroix, representative for Lord Marius Sartre of Lydes, who is here on the matter of some trade proposals. Another is Ser Marcelle Duhamel, for…”

As the names bled into one another, Evelyn felt the heavy weight of normalcy return, and the tension she hadn’t noticed in her shoulders till then eased.

It felt good to have this behind them, she thought. Surely the awkwardness would follow suit soon enough.

“By the way, Inquisitor,” Josephine said, “what are these reports about you running all the way up to your room the other day? Did something happen?”

Evelyn resisted a wince. “No. I, ah… just remembered something. That’s all.”

Well, at least some of the awkwardness, she hoped.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinks/Warnings: F!Trevelyan/Solas pairing, masturbation, unresolved sexual tension.
> 
> Fill for the kink meme prompt posted [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14591.html?thread=54844159#t54844159).
> 
> Revised chapter posted 1/24/2016.

The awkwardness didn’t fade. If anything, it worsened.

In hindsight, Evelyn knew she should have given the waters between them more time to calm. It was unrealistic to expect everything to return to the way it had been in the span of just a few days. But she had been so bloody stubborn – so assured she could overcome it with enough effort, as she always believed – that she hadn’t even second-guessed herself.

And so, when Vivienne had requested she hunt a snowy wyvern for its heart, she hadn’t hesitated to ask Solas to accompany her. At this point it felt expected; he had been by her side since the start, even when everything seemed on the verge of ending with the Breach. It felt stranger _not_ to ask.

Of course he had accepted. Even with his differences with the First Enchanter, he had smiled – warmth in his eyes – and said he would be pleased.

Looking back, she should have asked Vivienne herself. The heart was for her own concoction, after all. No one would have questioned taking her instead. Even Dorian would have been a fine enough fit; the man certainly complained enough of counting all of the stones in Skyhold to get outside a little. Or anyone, truly, when she thought about it. Killing the wyvern was the important part, not the method.

But she hadn’t, and like a fool she had strode from the rotunda feeling proud and determined. Cassandra – with her family legacy and personal experience – proved a quick second choice of companion, and once word got out, Iron Bull practically bent her arm behind her back with his pleading.

Thus, they had packed and prepared their gear, and by dawn the next day they set out on horseback.

By afternoon, she was strained.

Evelyn couldn’t keep her eyes off of Solas. She tried, but inevitably a few minutes later she would find her gaze had wandered back. He rode his steed – a common but proud Fereldan Forder – ahead and to the right of her, offering her a furtive view of his side. The elegant line of his profile, the sharp curve of his jaw, the broad slope of his shoulders leading to his back and then further down, to the way his hips rolled with the motion of the horse, his thighs tensing slightly and then releasing with every step.

_His hips shuddering, his eyes clenched shut, a quiet groan in his throat…_

“Inquisitor, are you feeling well?” Cassandra’s voice snapped her out of her reverie.

Evelyn smothered a stutter of her breath and jerked her gaze back to the road. Only then she felt the heat in her face and the thrum of her quickened pulse. “Fine,” she managed out at last. “Nothing is wrong.”

“Truly?” Cassandra replied, uncertain. “You look very flushed.”

“It’s probably just the Frostback air,” Evelyn said.

Her gaze wandered back to Solas before she could stop herself, and she nearly started when she saw him looking back at her, a concerned crease in his brow. She jerked her focus ahead again.

 _I’m fine_ , she told herself. _It’s only some lingering discomfort._

By night, she was frustrated.

Evelyn had hoped the evening would offer some reprieve – and it had, through the work of setting up their tents and eating supper. Then Cassandra and Iron Bull had thrown their bedrolls and gear into one tent, and she had realized she would be sleeping with Solas in the other, as they always had before.

A slight oversight, on her part.

Before, she had never thought about it, much less questioned it. But when understanding dawned this time, her hands had faltered at her own belongings as heat crept up her neck.

She’d considered asking to sleep with Cassandra – or even Iron Bull, really – but after a second thought stifled the request in her throat. They would have wondered, she knew, and it would have hurt Solas. He had already apologized, and when she had given her forgiveness, she had meant it. She could hardly imagine holding any ill will towards him. After all, fantasies were commonplace; that she had stumbled upon his had been by chance, even more so that it was of her. For all she knew, he thought of others just as often.

But the images that kept returning to her own mind…

 _No_ , she admonished herself. It was best not to even think on them.

But as the night deepened, she found herself tossing and turning in the tent, the blankets too hot, the air too cold, and in the darkness her other senses lit like a torch.

 _Sandalwood_. A minor note of it lingered in the air, warm and soothing about the edges. She had never noticed Solas smelled faintly of such. The earthier scents of pine and worn leather, yes – when he had knelt down to heal her after a hard battle, his slender hands warm upon her skin— She pulled her mind back to her original line of thought. Other scents, yes, she reminded herself, but not sandalwood.

From incense, she guessed at first, then reconsidered. She couldn’t imagine when Solas had last come in contact with any. He rarely frequented places of worship of his own accord, not even the chantry in Skyhold.

Perhaps he used soap made from it, she mused.

_Water pouring over his lightly freckled skin in shining rivulets, lather catching in the dips and curves of his muscles, a moan on his lips as a hand wound down his abdomen and—_

Solas sighed in his sleep, startling Evelyn from her thoughts.

She bit down on her lip to keep from groaning. As if the memory of seeing him wasn’t bad enough, now her mind insisted on creating imaginary ones.

She threw off her blankets, suddenly too hot again, and shifted her legs.

 _Sleep_ , she ordered herself. _Just go to sleep._

Several hours later, her eyes fitfully slipped shut and she finally lost herself to that oblivion. But come morning, her head was a scatter of fog-drenched dreams of vague lovers and a familiar voice moaning her name in her ear. In that moment, she was more than a bit glad that Solas and she, since their impromptu meeting in the Fade some time ago, had agreed to arrange such other instances beforehand. She couldn’t imagine facing him if he’d seen such things. Still, as it were, she could barely even look at him till noon.

 _It’ll pass_ , she reassured herself. She ignored the knot of unease growing at the back of her mind.

By the time of their arrival in Ghilan’nain’s Grove a week later, she was a mess.

Visions of Solas filled her thoughts – the sight of him on his bed still too sharply recalled, the steady roll of his hips as he rode his horse, the lean stretch of his legs when they stopped to rest, the soft smile playing upon his lips when he recounted a piece of history he’d found in the Fade there. So, too, did his voice imprint itself in her mind, from the quiet note of his timbre to the gentle cadence of his accent, the memory of her name on his lips resounding through her like an endless, sighing echo.

She rubbed at an ear, dipping her head to hide the growing flush on her face, as they trudged through the marsh. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Solas glancing at her with another worried crease in his brow. She studiously avoided returning his gaze.

Not for the first time by far at this point, and she winced at the guilty pang in her chest.

And then she winced again as her head twinged sharply. Between the whipping heat of the Exalted Plains, the restless nights, and her own harried mind, she considered it something of an achievement she could even form a straight thought. A headache burned at the nape of her neck from the exhaustion and stress, and the muscles in her back pinched fiercely. She was relieved the Inquisition patrols had already cleared out the remaining Freemen in the area but a few weeks ago, allowing leeway for her preoccupied state.

Later, she would blame that state for her poor judgement on what happened next.

They had nearly felled the beast – the wyvern snarling as it lunged at Cassandra and Iron Bull with its dagger-sized claws – as Solas summoned another barrier around the warriors and Evelyn searched for an opening. The beast’s head swung back and forth between them all, its eyes growing glazed, and blood poured from several deep gashes in its hide. The result of nearly an entire afternoon’s work spent between tracking it, surprising it with an attack, then retreating before it could retaliate, and then repeating all over again to wear it down. And they showed that work, their breathing ragged and their clothes soaked with water from the swamp and their own sweat. But much less so their own blood, and that was what counted.

Evelyn wiped a hand across her brow, her eyes narrowing at the sight of crimson against the wyvern’s once stark-white neck. A weak point, she surmised, and raised her stave to aim a stonefist at the wound. But then the beast whipped its head again, and she hissed an oath as she lost sight of it.

 _Just a bit closer_ , she thought, and stepped forward for a better view.

And misjudged her footing on the slick rocks. She stumbled with a gasp, and her spell shot wide.

Right into the boulder beside Solas.

The stonefist cracked apart, and she watched in alarm as several of the fragments hit him. A hand-sized piece struck him in the shoulder, knocking him off-balance, and he fell into the water with a grunt.

“Solas!” she shouted, concern driving her several steps towards him. “Are you all right?”

He waved her off as he struggled to right himself. “Focus on the wyvern!”

She hesitated a second, distress and fatigue clouding her mind, before doing as he said. But it was unneeded, as just as she turned, Iron Bull let out a roar of triumph as he drove his great-axe into the very spot she’d aimed for. The wyvern went down into the knee-high water with a seething growl, then stilled.

 _Kill-stealer_ , she thought, with a touch of wry amusement.

Then worry flooded back in.

“Solas!” she cried out again, turning on her heel to slosh over to him. He still struggled to rise, a grimace on his face, as he fought with several plants caught about his legs. She bent down to help him, a more remorseful frown on her own lips. “I’m so sorry, Solas,” she said. “Are you hurt at all?”

He sighed in relief as she untangled a tightly-wound stem. “No, not really. It was more of a surprise than anything. I wager I will have a minor bruise at worst, if even that.”

Her brow furrowed at his reply, but he shook his head at her with a small smile.

“Hush, Inquisitor. There is no need for worry – or shame,” he said. “It was an accident. I will have it healed by tomorrow as if it had never been.”

Guilt sat in her chest like a cold stone, but she heaved a breath around it. Instead she focused on the remaining plants tangled around his ankles, ignoring the flutter in her stomach when he reached over to assist and his fingers brushed hers. There were only a few plants, mostly hornwort at a glance, but the stems of the ones he’d stumbled into were long and stubborn, and his earlier struggling had only worsened matters. In clearer waters, she could have simply cut them with her knife, but in the murky swamp, she worried she would hurt him instead.

Between them, though, they had the plants loosened and then pulled away in but a few minutes. He gave her a grateful smile, his eyes bright and clear despite the long day, and she smiled in return and offered him a hand up. It was instinctive; the sort of touch they’d exchanged countless times before in their travels.

Then, in the space of him accepting her hand and her pulling him up, something changed.

Evelyn wasn’t sure who began it – her, him, or both at once – but as they rose, her eyes locked on Solas’, and his already upon hers, and the flow of that motion carried, their fingers tightening as they drew close until there was only a breath between. Her own breath strained, suddenly too sharp and heavy in her chest, and her headache faded to an afterthought. Her eyes drifted to his lips, as slightly parted as hers. Rosy, soft, inviting.

She didn’t think. It didn’t even occur to her to try, the moment so easy as if they had touched so for months already. She – or he, or both – leaned and tilted nearer, and her eyes slipped shut.

Then—

“Hey, boss! I got the heart!”

Her eyes snapped open, and she stumbled backward upon seeing Solas but a few inches away. The edge of a rock caught her heel, and she nearly fell, if not for the sliver of balance she retained and Solas’ firm grip on her hand. She righted herself with a sigh, then looked once more at him.

He returned her gaze, his face unreadable, though he didn’t let go.

The far-off thump of a fist hitting flesh startled her out of the moment. “Hey!” Iron Bull cried out. “What was that for, Seeker? I thought the wyvern would’ve helped with all that frustration.”

Another thump, then a growl. “You _interrupted_!”

A wave of heat rushed up Evelyn’s neck, and she backed away again, more cautiously this time. “The heart,” she said, barely resisting a stammer, as Solas’ expression grew confused. “I need to preserve it – to place it in the container Vivienne gave me. Or else it’ll degrade in the heat.”

He nodded, almost absently, and released her. His fingers lingered on hers for a second longer as she stepped back and let his hand go.

She didn’t think on the gesture, nor any of what had just occurred – or nearly so. She refused to, the headache that had receded in that short moment returning with a seething vengeance as she turned and fumbled with her satchel. Her fingers struggled with the buckle several times, her hands shaking, as she waded over to where Iron Bull stood rubbing his arm with one hand as he held the heart in the other. Finally the strap loosened, and she sighed in relief when she pulled out the enchanted box.

 _Get a snowy wyvern heart for Vivienne_. A relatively simple task. She could handle that, she thought.

She desperately tried to think only of that.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinks/Warnings: F!Trevelyan/Solas pairing, masturbation, unresolved sexual tension.
> 
> Fill for the kink meme prompt posted [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14591.html?thread=54844159#t54844159).
> 
> Revised chapter posted 1/24/2016.

Solas spoke little the rest of the afternoon, and then he spoke even less that evening. When he did, his words were polite and carefully sparse, all stoic reserve like when Evelyn had first talked with him in Haven what felt like a small age ago. A pointed neutrality that towered between them like a stone wall. Then, even if not for that, he took up maintaining at least several strides’ distance away from her, like a barrier no one but he could perceive. As if afraid of what she might do, or perhaps more of himself.

Nor did their companions help lift the unease much. Between Iron Bull’s enthused reminiscing on their fight with the wyvern and the stares Cassandra traded between Solas and Evelyn that the Seeker didn’t think they saw, Evelyn couldn’t imagine a more uncomfortable hike back.

Except perhaps with Cole. Or Sera. Or Varric. Or…

She supposed it could be worse.

All the same, that night wasn’t much better. Without any dry wood for a campfire in the wet marsh, supper was a fast affair of simple rations. Then Solas set up his protective wards, they pitched their tents, and they nearly threw themselves onto their bedrolls in their exhaustion.

Though that wasn’t to say they all fell asleep right away.

Or at least Evelyn didn’t, her growing realization of the truth roiling in her like a storm-swept sea. She could have ignored the heated flashes of memory, the wanderings of her thoughts, and even the flutter in her chest at the sight of him, but the near-kiss… That held too much the weight of reality, his grey-blue eyes half-lidded and his lips still so soft in her mind’s eye. It had felt so easy. But a moment more, and…

She pushed away her blankets and turned on her bedroll for the eighth time that night.

Solas seemed as equally restless, though he hid it better than her. He lay quiet and unmoving, as if already departed for the Fade, if not for his breathing. Too even, too controlled, to be truly asleep. She wondered if she were to reach over and touch him if he would be as rigid as steel.

_Her hand upon his warm skin, stroking the sharp angle of his jaw, then cupping the softer one of his cheek as she leaned up and…_

She breathed out, the air sharp in her throat, and closed her eyes.

She nearly burned to speak to him, to say something, anything. But what could she say? The words stuck in her chest as uncertainties welled up.

Did he truly want this, whatever this was? Until she had walked in on him, she’d never suspected such a desire on his part. They had grown close over the months, but _that_ kind of close… Even now it felt unreal, only the fact that she had seen him herself convincing her otherwise.

But she _had_ seen it. It was real, and even if she could dismiss that sight, dismissing what had nearly happened in Ghilan’nain’s Grove would only be a fool’s persistence.

She couldn’t do this, she decided.

Not to him, not to someone she held so close as a friend and perhaps even more. She was the Inquisitor, and he would get hurt. If not by some folly of her own actions, then by the nobles, the spies, the countless enemies lurking in the shadows, biding their time for a vulnerable point.

Again, the stage had changed from the Circle, but not the rules, expectations, or fears.

But for the first time, a part of her couldn’t help still wondering. Hoping, even.

Then she heard Cassandra grumble in her sleep from the next tent over, and she bit her lip to rein in anything she might say.

 _Later_ , she thought. She could confront Solas somewhere more private.

But as the days passed on their journey back to Skyhold and her tongue grew increasingly tied, “later” slipped into “another time” and then “perhaps best forgotten.” The lattermost felt impossible, however, as the last miles of their journey saw Solas chancing as many – if not more – glances at her as she’d gotten into the habit with him. In each one something soft yet sad lingered, but she couldn’t make anything certain of it.

As if she were able to read anything certain out of him much of the time. She still recalled Blackwall’s warning not to play Diamondback with the man.

But, at last, just as the sun’s rays were cresting upon the Frostback peaks, they returned to Skyhold. After riding past the gate, they dismounted and took down their bags from the saddles before handing their horses off to the waiting servants. Iron Bull strode off with one, a wide grin on his lips and a hand on the back of a red-headed stablehand bearing just as wide of a grin of his own, and Cassandra left for her own matters soon enough.

Leaving Evelyn and Solas alone beside the gate.

The clash of practice swords from the training yard rang sharply against the silence between them. Evelyn chanced a glance at Solas and was surprised to find his gaze already upon her.

Again, his expression was unreadable, but the weight of unspoken words strained the air.

Then, he began, “Inquisitor, I—”

“Inquisitor!” another, familiar voice rang out. “Dear, I must speak with you at once!”

 _Oh, come on_ , Evelyn nearly groaned aloud. But as she looked to find Vivienne striding in quick time towards her and then remembered the enchanted box in her bag, she realized the First Enchanter’s good cause for her haste.

“Of course, Vivienne,” she called back. “I have the snowy wyvern heart right here.”

She tried to ignore the way her chest tightened when out of the corner of her eye she saw Solas, with a final short look, turn on his heel and leave in the direction of the main hall. But Vivienne was quick enough to arrest her attention with the heart and then another request: to accompany her to Duke Bastien de Ghyslain’s manor, a trip that would take several days to complete.

“I know you have just returned, Inquisitor,” Vivienne said, “but time is of the essence in this. Once I have prepared the alchemical concoction, I wish to depart as soon as possible.”

“And how long will that take?”

“I expect no more than an hour, likely less.”

Evelyn nodded, and then after Vivienne left with the heart, she pressed a hand over her face. _An hour_. Could she say all she wanted to say in that short time? What did she even _want_ to say?

“You sure got it bad for him, huh, boss?”

Evelyn started, jerking her attention to the large Qunari leaning against the fortress wall but a few paces away. Iron Bull grinned at her, something between friendly and knowing, and she tried to ignore the flip of her stomach and the heat that ran across her cheeks. In vain, however. Maker, she hadn’t even heard him approach. Had she been so lost in her own thoughts?

“I… I thought you had left with that stablehand,” she replied instead.

“We’ll catch up later at the tavern,” he said easily. “I thought the two of us could talk before you had to take off again.”

“About what?” she said, and she cringed even as the words left her mouth.

Iron Bull only arched an eyebrow at her. She could almost hear his reply in that alone: _Ben-Hassrath, remember?_

He knew. He had known the entire time, even when he had interrupted in the grove. She shook her head with a disbelieving groan. “I don’t know whether to thank you or hit you like Cassandra did,” she said.

Iron Bull laughed. “You could do both if you like.”

“I… No. Thank you. It was a stupid thing to do. I shouldn’t have started it.”

But again he lifted a brow. “And were you the one who started it?”

Evelyn’s head swam with memories. The ancient grove, Solas’ hand warm, his lips soft, and his grey-blue eyes so gentle as he leaned toward her. His bedroom, the dim light playing upon the man’s slim but fit form, his hand and skin slick with oil, her name catching in a low moan.

Then her memory fell further back to more. The evenings lost to refining spells and theories at desks and settees alike, the gentle chuckle when his voice lulled her into near-sleep as the hours slipped to night, then the even softer note of his words as he guided her to her quarters to sleep. Then, as they stood at her door, how he’d waver, his mouth parting as if to say so much more, before he’d turn and leave.

Then, only a month ago, a hand on her back on the balcony at the Halamshiral ball, whispering reassurance and congratulations in equal measure. How he had asked her to dance, and the stars twinkling under the wan light of dawn and wine still sharp and sweet on their breaths, she had agreed on a whim. Finding herself pleased by the distraction, then more pleased by the warm smile on his face.

How he had gazed so deeply into her eyes and told her she had done beautifully.

Evelyn suddenly realized Iron Bull was speaking again:

“I admit, I wasn’t sure you felt that way about him,” he said. “No offense, but you seem kind of married to the job. Wasn’t certain you were even interested in that sort of stuff.”

Evelyn’s face burned hotter at his words.

What he said was true. She wasn’t a virgin by any means, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done such a thing. Several years, at least. She’d just lost track of time, with her studies at the Circle, then with trying to survive outside of it, and now with the Inquisition. It just wasn’t a priority.

And it couldn’t be, she reminded herself.

“I’m fine,” she said.

His green eye softened on her, and somehow that made her feel worse, uncertainty and nerves swimming in her stomach. “Hey, no judgement from me,” he said. “I know what it’s like letting a job get to you, make you think you can’t be anything else.”

“I’m fine,” she said again, voice cracking at the edges. “It’s fine.”

He pushed away from the wall, a soft smile too understanding for her own good on his face. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to butt in where I wasn’t needed,” he replied. “You’ve already got a lot on your shoulders, boss, and you seemed pretty out of it that day. Didn’t want you taking on more than you meant, that’s all.” With a nod, he added, “Well, best of luck on the mission with Viv— er, Vivienne, I mean. I’ll see you later, boss.”

Then he walked away.

Evelyn fell back against the wall nearest to her and covered her face with her hands.

Maker, she couldn’t deal with this. She could barely _think_ of it.

“My dear, are you ready to leave yet?” Vivienne’s voice broke in.

Evelyn blinked back the tears she hadn’t been aware of gathering in her eyes as she pulled away her hands. The First Enchanter stood across from her, clad in her riding clothes and concern creased in her brow. Another pang of embarrassment struck through her; she must have lost track of time again.

She’d been doing that a lot lately, she noticed.

“Are you all right, dear?” Vivienne asked. “You don’t look at all well. Shall I call for a healer?”

“No.” Evelyn let out a slow breath as she gathered herself. “No, I’m all right,” she said, with an unbidden glance towards the column of the rotunda. “I think this short trip away is just what I need.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinks/Warnings: F!Trevelyan/Solas pairing, masturbation, unresolved sexual tension.
> 
> Fill for the kink meme prompt posted [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14591.html?thread=54844159#t54844159).
> 
> Revised chapter posted 3/21/2016. Sorry for the wait!

Despite her resolve to forget, Evelyn found herself thinking of Solas more than ever. Perhaps unsurprisingly at this point, she mused.

However, it did little to assuage her reservations.

Even though the journey to Duke Bastien’s manor was short – practically a skip and a hop, compared to other places she’d traveled already – that time seemed to stretch. She and Vivienne rode their horses at a steady canter, along with a small, similarly-outfitted escort of stern-faced Inquisition soldiers. Likely trained by Cullen himself, Evelyn mused, though the First Enchanter’s own quiet severity made them look like amateurs.

The two of them had something of a civil understanding, Evelyn thought. While they both came from the Circle, they had never quite gotten on, not like she did with Solas or even Dorian. But she had always considered her advice, and the woman very rarely ever asked for more.

Thus, the silence they rode in – though far from comfortable – was at least expected.

But it _dragged_.

Without conversation or battle to focus on, her own concerns blurred their surroundings into a mess of browns, greens, and greys. Again, the memories of her time spent with Solas poured through her mind like a rising river, and her conversation with Iron Bull had only fed it further with more teased to the surface.

_“And were you the one who started it?”_

Solas had, surely, she thought, and then she wondered. Before this whole mess had begun, she had believed herself cool and collected, a counterpoint to the chaos that the Inquisition often found itself wading into. But this – this sudden falling, like a stumble in the middle of a slow dance – struck her sharply.

 _How long?_ she asked again – except now to herself. When had she first thought of him as more? And when had it turned into _this_?

As if finding a dusty book fallen behind a shelf, each question opened a new doubt, a new tangle of memories to sort. And with each one, another wonder – a possibility, a hope she had pushed down without even knowing – unveiled itself.

Her unending prodding for stories of the Fade in Haven, what had once been but curiosity growing into caring as she saw his gentleness, his kind intelligence. When he’d told her of his worry about being put into a Circle, how she’d been surprised by the fervor in her own voice when she promised him protection. Then, at Skyhold, the more playful moments: the pastries she snuck on whims to his desk in the rotunda and the small, knowing smile he gave her later; the teasing corrections on notes slipped between the pages of books when they had little time to meet; the witticisms of a familiar friendship, the lingering brushes of hands.

How, after his friend had passed and he’d returned, she’d offered her arms, and his composure had crumbled, unguarded in grief in that single instance. He’d hesitated a moment, and then he had fallen into them, clutching her as if she were the one thread tying him to this world. A ragged sigh beside her ear, and then he’d pulled back and away into his usual self, the moment passed if it’d never been.

Then, but a mere week later, he had taken her out on the balcony in her quarters and asked about the Anchor, asked about her, and… He had leaned close, his storm-blue eyes heavy, and she had nearly thought he would ask more, would ask _for_ more.

Or, perhaps, he had been waiting for _her_ to ask.

But then he had turned and left on the excuse of taking enough of her time, and she had stood there, a heavy disappointment in her chest that she couldn’t place.

Evelyn’s head swam with the memories, her heart aching from them.

It would be easier not to think of this, not to wonder, she told herself. It would be easier if she only forgot and let the moments sink away once more.

Then they reached Duke Bastien – and all that happened – and it only reminded her more.

She and Vivienne sat waiting in the drawing room. Two hours had gone since the duke’s passing and an hour since the manor had calmed from the unrest that had come from it, but the two of them had barely shared a few sentences. Vivienne had brushed away all her attempts at comfort with her usual reserve, but she couldn’t blame her. Evelyn knew it was simply her way, a lesson all too well-remembered from the Circle.

_Don’t show attachment. Don’t show that it hurts._

In that rich, refined room of shining furniture and decadent portraits, Evelyn felt drained to the bone. She was so tired: of the Circle, of the politics, of the fear.

Tired of all of it.

“Vivienne, can I— Is there—” Evelyn’s voice broke on the words, at a loss. “I’m so sorry. I swear the heart should’ve… Is there anything at all I can do for you?”

Vivienne set down her tea, the softest clatter against the saucer the only sign of her nerves. “No, my dear,” she replied. “I’ll handle everything. Please rest up tonight. I have requested our horses be prepared as early as possible tomorrow. We’ll leave an hour after dawn. I do not wish to inconvenience the household.”

Or, perhaps, to linger. Again, Evelyn couldn’t blame her.

Evelyn nodded, but before she could reply, a servant entered the room. Not one of the maids, she noted, but a woman dressed in the livery of a clerk. She bowed her head to both of them.

“Madame de Fer?” the servant said. “Please, we must speak.”

Vivienne’s poised expression weakened for a short second, and then she regained herself and stood. “Excuse me, Inquisitor,” she said. “I have much to do. Good evening.”

Then she strode away with the woman.

Evelyn sunk back into the sofa and closed her eyes, uncertain of what to think, trying not to think at all. A sense of guilt, of uselessness, dogged her. She should have done better by Vivienne, but Solas filled her mind instead. From the very start, he had occupied all her focus. If only she had tracked the wyvern better, returned with its heart faster, she—

She wouldn’t have changed anything. The potion had failed, and Duke Bastien had died. Vivienne had only the small comfort that he’d wakened for a short time and spoken before then.

 _Time_. Always so much less than one knew.

Evelyn let out a heavy sigh, wanting nothing more than a bed to collapse into. Exhaustion weighed on her, and she wondered if she would’ve fallen asleep right there if not for a sense of decorum – and the thought of a lecture from Josephine if she found out. That kept her awake well enough.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait much longer. The entrance of another servant – one of the maids this time – roused her from her thoughts and escorted her to her room for the night.

But, as weary as she felt, lying in bed helped less than she’d hoped.

In short time she found herself up and pacing the bedroom. Visions of Solas danced behind her eyes, his voice an echo in her mind’s ears, the smell of him, of his clothes, of the pelt he tied around his shoulder a comforting and maddening memory. As much as she wished to banish him, to focus on the present, every worry stirred another recollection of him, of his own matters, of his own health. She hadn’t been this long and far apart from him since… well, nearly the start of the Inquisition itself, and she missed him.

For a moment she wished she had some sign he was doing well, or at least something of his she could hold close and breathe in, to drown herself in that aching familiarity.

But there was nothing.

As there always would be, because she was too scared to try.

Eventually, after the last threads of dusk had faded and the servants long since retired, exhaustion overcame her, and she slipped back into bed. The pristine sheets felt strange to her – too used to the rough woolen covers of the Circle, and now to the thick blankets and furs of camp, the soft sighs of Solas’ sleep but a few feet away– She closed her eyes tight. _Just sleep_ , she chided herself. _It’ll be easier then._

But even as she drifted away at last, she knew it wouldn’t.

“Evelyn,” a voice whispered in her ear. A voice she knew all too well, but the tone less so, a deep and sonorous murmur that brought to mind a bedroom she’d seen only twice and sent a pleasant shiver across her shoulders. “Evelyn,” it whispered again. A hand ghosted across her side. “I’ve missed you.”

And then she turned and found Solas far away lying in a bed. He was wan and pale, shaking with a fever. Panic threaded through her, and she took a step forward before she remembered—

 _It’s not real_ , she told herself, and closed her eyes to push the dream away.

Only to open them to the sight of him fallen on a battlefield, smoke and ash in the air and his blood spilled across the ground. He stared up at her, a death rattle gathering in his chest…

_It’s not real._

And another dream filled the space left behind, a fresh worry made manifest, and then another and another, till she turned and fled with the Anchor flaring in her palm. _Away_. She needed to get away, to gather herself for a moment. Flashes of dreams and fragments of memories whispered past her as the Fade opened to her, or perhaps more to the mark she bore. She didn’t particularly care which right then.

She just needed a respite, before all her yearning swept her away. Something calming, something familiar, something she _knew_.

_Or someone._

Whether the suggestion of a spirit or her own unbidden thought, with that the Fade parted its mists, and before her was Solas again, but for once unharmed and whole as she’d left him in the waking world. He knelt in a grassy field strangely familiar, his hands hovering over a shimmering figment and the air sweet and cool from the forested mountains around. And there she stared and recognized the craggy peaks of the Frostbacks she saw beyond her balcony at Skyhold. Or where Skyhold would be, or once was, as there was nothing now but them.

 _Just how far am I in the Fade?_ she wondered, the Anchor hot in her palm.

She turned back to Solas, who looked up at her, as surprised to see her as she was distraught. Not _him_ , she inwardly pleaded. She couldn’t bear to see him hurt, not again.

 _Another dream_ , Evelyn assumed, and nearly closed her eyes once more.

But, there, in the way his grey-blue eyes softened and his head tilted just so in concern and curiosity, as he always did when she returned with some new trouble from a meeting with her advisors, she doubted herself. She watched as he straightened from where he had knelt and turned fully to her, and still she watched as he took several tentative steps towards her.

“Inquisitor?” he asked.

Evelyn shut her eyes. It was only a dream, nothing more than a spirit in his shape. A clever, skilled spirit, but a spirit nonetheless. Her grasp at walking the Fade had sharpened with Solas’ instruction, true, but Skyhold was a journey now days away. She couldn’t have managed that far. She _couldn’t_ – but the gentle touch of his hand on her shoulder made her doubt again, drawing a shuddering gasp from her lips.

He was warm and grounding and all too much.

Damn the fear, damn all of it. She needed him, even for just one night, even as only this.

“Inquisitor?” he spoke again, and his voice this time was even softer. She opened her eyes, and his brow furrowed further at her silence. “Has something happened? How did you reach me?”

Her thoughts coalesced into the only answer she could give:

“I thought of you,” she said.

And then she cupped his face between her hands and kissed him.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinks/Warnings: F!Trevelyan/Solas pairing, masturbation, unresolved sexual tension.
> 
> Fill for the kink meme prompt posted [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14591.html?thread=54844159#t54844159).
> 
> Revised chapter posted 5/2/2016. Again, apologies for the wait.

It began as a light touch, nearly nothing more than a brush of her lips against his, but even so it was as warm and soft as Evelyn had imagined since Ghilan’nain’s Grove. Better, even, so much better – the warmth of him against her, the smooth skin of his face beneath her hands, the scent of him filling her world.

 _Please, just this_ , she silently begged, as Solas – or the form of him – stood unmoving, his mouth still against hers. _Whatever or whoever you are, I only want tonight._

Evelyn deepened the kiss, pleading with her lips, her sighs, her hands as they wound down his cheeks to fist in the collar of his tunic. And, slowly, as if she were but a stray wisp, Solas, or the shape of him, reciprocated, pressing back and drawing his hands up her sides to settle on her back. Gently, so gently, he held her to him, and he trailed his lips to the corner of hers, to her cheek, the curve of her jaw, her earlobe.

“Evelyn,” he sighed. “This is… I had hoped—”

Then someone shook her awake.

“Your Worship?” a woman’s voice spoke, high and reedy. “Your Worship, can you hear me?”

Evelyn’s eyes flew open, only to shut again with a groan at the bright light of dawn flooding the room. She heaved a breath, the memory of the dream already a scattering trail of thought, and forced her eyes open with a wince. A maid stood beside the bed, worry creased deeply in her brow.

“Oh, by the Maker,” the woman gasped, relieved. “I couldn’t wake you for the longest time, Your Worship. I worried— Well, I’m glad you’re awake now. Shall I draw a bath?”

Evelyn held a hand over her face to block out the sun and tried to gather her mind. But it came slowly, sleep dragging at her like the deep mud in the Fallow Mire. Something… Something had happened during the night, something important. The sound of Solas’ voice against her ear whispered across her memory, and she flushed. Had she really— No, it had only been a dream, albeit an intensely realistic one.

Finally she drew away her hand and looked to the maid again. “I… I’m not sure,” she answered. “Are the horses already prepared?”

“Nearly,” the maid replied, then added, “or, at least, when I’d last heard, they nearly were.”

“What do you mean? How long has it been?”

The maid wrung her hands. “Oh, w-well – I must have spent a quarter of an hour trying to wake you. I was about to go for help when you finally did. It was the most peculiar thing, Your Worship; you were asleep, but no matter how much I called, you wouldn’t stir. Is this something that mages do?”

A thread of unease wound tight along her shoulders, but she shook it off with a shrug. “It’s nothing to worry about,” she replied at last, and the maid relaxed. “Thank you for waking me. I don’t think there’s time for a bath. I’ll just gather my things and get dressed to leave shortly.”

“There’s a cold breakfast available in the main hall,” the maid said. “I can also arrange to have some food wrapped to take with you, if you like.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

With that, the woman left, and Evelyn sunk back into the bed for a long moment. She ran her hands over her face with a heavy sigh. The effect of the dream lingered as a flutter in her chest, and she took several deep breaths to calm herself. It couldn’t have been real, but even so. She had never responded in her recent dreams of Solas, much less actively sought him out, and now that she had done so…

Maker, she couldn’t deny it any longer. She wanted Solas.

She released another sigh as she sat up, then refreshed herself at the washbasin and changed into her traveling clothes. Vivienne would be expecting her shortly, and she knew better than to keep her waiting.

However, when she stepped into the main hall to snag a few bites before their departure, she found the First Enchanter already beside the door, speaking with a man dressed in teal and white silks trimmed in silver thread, a mask of inlaid golden designs of House Bastien on his face and his legs still clad in riding boots. Servants bustled in and out of the entrance with chests and packs in tow.

Upon noticing her, Vivienne waved her over. “Allow me to present Inquisitor Trevelyan,” she said, once Evelyn had approached. “Inquisitor, this is Duke Bastien’s seneschal, Alain Monteil.”

The man offered her a bow. “Your Worship,” he greeted. “I wish I could say it was a pleasure, but…” He heaved a sigh. “In any case, I am glad my lord was able to speak with Madame de Fer one last time. I understand you went through a great trial to allow him that much.”

Evelyn bowed in return. “I am sorry for your loss, Monsieur Alain,” she replied. “Madame Vivienne herself made the potion that made it possible at all.”

Alain nodded. “Yes, that is true. I have both of you to thank.”

“It was but the least we could do for dear Bastien,” Vivienne said, a sad smile on her lips. She looked back to Evelyn. “Monsieur Alain was telling me he had hoped to catch us on the way here, but alas. He has matters of the estate and… and other topics to discuss,” she explained. A flicker of grief caught in her eyes at her last words. “He still has a great deal to talk over. I know I had asked us to leave soon, my dear, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to make the return trip with you after all. I hope you understand?”

“Of course, Madame Vivienne,” Evelyn replied. “Please, take all the time you need. Should I leave part of the escort here for you?”

“No, it’s all right,” Vivienne said. “Monsieur Alain has offered to lend his own when I need it.”

Then, with a polite farewell, Vivienne and Alain left her. Once they had gone, Evelyn sighed and rubbed at her brow, the twinge of a headache already forming. A quick healing spell softened the edges of it, but without more sleep it would stubbornly cling for some hours yet, if not the day.

Evelyn finished breakfast and set out with the escort, intent on making good time back to Skyhold.

For exactly what, she found herself doubting. The dream couldn’t have been real, and yet a knot of disquiet tightened in her chest a little more with every breath.

But, if there was one thing certain, if she had thought the ride to Duke Bastien’s was dull, the return trip was worse. She attempted several times to converse with the soldiers guarding her, but they were either too attached to their tight-lipped formality or too intimidated to manage more than a few stuttering words.

Eventually, Evelyn slipped back into her own thoughts.

At first of simply what to say to her advisors, how best to react to this newest political complication and Vivienne’s personal loss. Duke Bastien’s relations would waste little time in claiming what they could of the estate, and the rest of Orlais’ nobility wouldn’t be far behind to snatch up what they couldn’t. Bastien’s position as the leader of the Council of Heralds had been a powerful one, and mouths would be watering in the coming weeks as news spread. Evelyn tried to recall the latest rumors, of those nobles best positioned to snatch it and what they might mean for Orlais and the Inquisition.

Her headache sharpened, and with a sigh she gave up. Instead she let her mind drift: to a hot bath, to her bed back at Skyhold, to telling Solas about the Anchor’s flare-up in her dream—

No. No, she couldn’t tell him that.

But – she did need to talk to him regardless. Even without the dream, the near-kiss at Ghilan’nain’s Grove had been too close to brush off, and she couldn’t ignore her own growing infatuation of his soft eyes the color of the sea. Of his kind manner, the quiet lilt to his voice. Of his gentle, long-fingered hands, of his inviting, rose-hued lips. Of his skin so temptingly dusted with freckles, his wide, well-muscled shoulders, and—

A soldier coughed, and Evelyn stifled a jolt of surprise.

 _Andraste’s arse_ , she had it bad.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinks/Warnings: F!Trevelyan/Solas pairing, masturbation, unresolved sexual tension.
> 
> Fill for the kink meme prompt posted [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14591.html?thread=54844159#t54844159).
> 
> Revised chapter posted 8/20/2016. Thank you so much for waiting!

When they rounded the last corner of the pass and Skyhold rose into sight, Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief. Several days of riding had done little for her tense discomfort, and truthfully she preferred walking when she could. Despite her family’s heraldry, the art of horse-riding remained lost on her. A result of a life spent in the Circle, she imagined; after all, she’d had little chance to practice till now.

She swept the bitter thought from her mind. She had other, more pleasant things to concentrate on, like a hot bath, a familiar bed, pleasant company, and…

She stifled the urge to bite her lip.

 _Solas_. She had thought of him, perhaps more than she should, and certainly more than a few times in ways that had nothing to do with his professional counsel. On the road, in some attempt to make of what to say to him. In the inns, looking across the table and missing his conversation. In bed, running her fingers over her breasts, down her stomach, and to between her thighs, a soft sigh in her throat…

And the dreams…

Those remained… odd, but in a far different manner. Even as she knew she shouldn’t, she looked forward to seeing that perfect phantom again, to perhaps resuming where they had left off.

And yet it never returned.

Instead her dreams were restless, roaming, as if searching for a missing piece that it couldn’t craft on its own. Every path she took carried her down the same way as before, deeper into those depths, to that mountainside of grass and trees where Skyhold would someday stand. But no matter how far she walked, it lingered just out of reach, like a mirage over desert sand. And, always, on the edge of awareness, the sense of a presence, and when she turned her head, the flicker of a form disappearing into shadow.

Several spirits in Solas’ form, too, came to her, whispering sweet promises in her ears, but she dismissed them. Though they at least did not bring nightmares – instead longing, desire – she felt immediately their paleness to the one she had kissed that night.

No, it wasn’t at all wise, she knew, and yet she still yearned for it. Its touch had felt so sincere, so tender, an affection she couldn’t forget in those gentle kisses.

She wasn’t sure she had ever been touched that way.

Would Solas touch her the same?

Would she even get the chance to know?

She still wasn’t sure of his true feelings for her. But, as the retinue of guards carried her further up the road, hooves clicking against the cobblestone, she knew she had little time left for fretting.

Evelyn steeled herself – or at least tried to – as she entered Skyhold.

Her arrival came with little fanfare, as usual nowadays. People had once clamored to see her return every time, but with her frequent coming-and-goings and work always pressing in the fortress, only a few of the visiting nobility and dignitaries now stepped out of the main hall to see. Even then, the cold often kept that time short. She found that relative solitude a comfort, where she had so little of it otherwise.

As she dismounted and handed off her horse, though, that same feeling from the dream, of knowing eyes upon her, rose up. She looked about, but a moment later it slipped away.

Evelyn rubbed her neck, ill at ease.

She was accustomed to being watched well enough. She’d lived most of her life under the scrutinizing gaze of templars, and now she often lived it under that of nobles.

She was only nervous, she told herself.

With that, she trudged up the many steps on legs still wobbly from riding to her room to quickly refresh herself. Leliana came for her just as she finished pulling on the more comfortable clothes she kept for Skyhold, and the spymaster wasted no time sweeping her off to the war room for a debriefing.

It wouldn’t be long, she promised herself. Chances were Josephine had already planned matters to the exact steps she had to place her feet. Then she could speak with Solas.

It was long.

By the time they emerged from the war room, the light of the day had dimmed to the onset of dusk, the oranges and reds of sunset but a hint on the clouds in the greying sky through the windows. Vivienne had sent word of more complications, of upstart nobles vying for power in the wake of Duke Bastien’s passing, more than a few whose current sources of power were already suspicious. Josephine would need to draw upon her connections, Leliana to arrange her agents, and Cullen to ready his men in case force became necessary.

It gave Evelyn a headache just thinking about it.

And so it was she let out an audible sigh when she at last stepped out into the main hall. Mercifully, many of the guests had already retired for the night, and none questioned her when she slipped away to her quarters once more. She refreshed herself once again, taking the time to comb her hair and smooth the wrinkles from her clothes. She fiddled with the toggles of her top for a long minute, then shook her head at herself.

Really, she was a mature adult, not some teenager about to ask their first crush on a date. She’d prepared less for quick trysts in the past, much less simply… talking.

 _Talking_. That’s all it really was, when it boiled down to it. If he was still awake at all.

Evelyn took a steadying breath, squared her shoulders, and marched herself over to the rotunda…

To find Dorian reading at Solas’ desk. Again. He even had his feet propped up on it once more, his polished boots tucked between the various piles of notes and books.

She more or less stumbled to a stop, her confidence vanishing like a wisp of smoke in a breeze. Even more so when Dorian looked up from his papers to arch an eyebrow at her, as if he’d been expecting her all along. Which he probably had been. Also like he had the time before.

She may have needed to work on her subtlety. Just a bit.

“I— Um, hello, Dorian,” she said. “I can see you’re busy right now, so I’ll just—”

“Now, wait just a minute, Inquisitor,” Dorian said, laughter in his voice. “Not even a, ‘We should stop meeting like this’? I’ll have you know you missed a perfectly good opportunity, and it’s too late to try it now. You’ll just have to wait for another chance.”

A grin tugged at her lips in spite of her fatigue. “Should I start expecting it at this rate?”

He chuckled. “Perhaps,” he replied. “So, how was your trip? Long, hard, didn’t go at all as well as you’d hoped, the usual? Please tell me they at least gave you good wine.”

She let out a sigh. “Any wine would’ve been good. I take it you heard the news?”

“Everyone has,” he replied, a touch of sadness softening his expression. “Truly, a terrible event. I’d never spoken with Duke Bastien personally, but I had heard he was a good man. Did quite a good job at what sounded like herding cats. Cats with questionable fashion and even more questionable life choices. And to think of how Vivienne must be coping…” He released a heavy breath and waved the matter away. “Well, I’m sure you’ve had the matter on your mind enough. Besides which, we have other things to discuss – that concerning your apostate lover.”

Evelyn crossed her arms with a frown. “I’ve told you, Dorian. We’re just—”

“Friends,” he finished, an amused quirk in his lips. “Yes, just as much as you only came in here to see my astonishingly wonderful, handsome self, I’m sure.”

She chewed on her lip, hesitant. Then: “What is it? Advice?”

“Oh, at last cutting right to the quick. But I’m afraid not. You know I’m rubbish at relationships,” he replied. “Just an invitation: If it all goes belly-up, you’re welcome to try me at a game of chess. We can duel the frustration of our problems out together, and if we don’t like those ones, we can always make some up.”

“And you’re not just saying that because I won last time?”

“I believe I’m a complex enough man to have multiple motivations, thank you,” he sniffed. He leaned back, self-assurance gleaming in his eyes. Then he stiffened like an apprentice who’d just remembered he’d left his fire experiment running in the next room. “Wait,” he said, “there is one more thi—”

“Inquisitor.”

The woman in question stilled at the sound of her title, the voice that had spoken it sending a curl of warmth – of both familiarity and more – down her spine. She slowly turned to its owner, her heart thudding entirely too heavily in her chest, and found herself caught in storm-blue eyes.

She opened her mouth once, to no effect, then the second time managed:

“Solas. I… I’m glad to see you.”


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinks/Warnings: F!Trevelyan/Solas pairing, masturbation, unresolved sexual tension.
> 
> Fill for the kink meme prompt posted [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14591.html?thread=54844159#t54844159).
> 
> For those still reading, thank you so much! I'm really sorry for the long hiatus. The story has undergone some major revisions since 9/20/2015, especially starting around chapter four and on. If you haven't already, please read again starting there. Thank you for your patience!

The soft hint of an answering smile pulled a bloom of warmth from Evelyn’s chest. She found a smile growing on her own lips, for once a real one – not the smile she put on for the nobles, a mask of courage, or a myriad of other reasons, but _real_ – all for the simple sake of seeing Solas.

Maker, she had missed him terribly.

Then Dorian cleared his throat from behind her. “Shall I leave you two lovebirds to it, or do you mind if I take notes for Varric? He did say he’d pay for details…”

Evelyn nearly scowled back at him but caught herself with but a warning glance. Solas, however, spared the Tevinter mage a hard look – lingering for a long moment on the desk, until Evelyn heard the soft thump of Dorian’s feet hitting the floor and the shuffle of papers being gathered – and then focused again on her.

His eyes searched hers, and then he seemed to hesitate, his lips thinning.

“Inquisitor, I…” he began, then trailed off.

“Might I suggest trying, ‘Hello,’ Solas?” Dorian spoke up again. “Then perhaps, ‘How are you?’ I’ve heard they work wonders together.”

Solas shot another sharp look at the mage, a rejoinder evident on the tip of his tongue. But before the two could devolve into an argument, Evelyn stepped directly between them. She wasn’t tall enough by far to truly block the view of either, but it caught Solas’ attention again well enough.

“Actually, Solas,” she said, “I was hoping to speak with you in private. If it’s not too late today, that is.”

“Well… Yes, of course,” he replied. He nodded back to the door he’d entered from. “Please, this way, Inquisitor. I think I know of such a place we could talk at this hour.”

Evelyn followed him out after a short wave to Dorian, whose mouth twitched in a smirk in reply, and then she was walking out and down the main hall at a quick pace. It was only when she began to fall behind after a few fast steps that Solas noticed and slowed, casting an apologetic glance back to her. It was unlike him to rush with so little awareness, Evelyn thought, a frown pulling on her lips once he had turned away.

To her surprise, he took her not to the garden as before, but instead down the servant’s stone stairway next to the dining hall that led into the cellar. She caught a whiff of the last of supper, the smell of bread and roasted chicken in the air, and her stomach tightened as she recalled she hadn’t eaten for some hours.

 _Later_ , she told herself. Once she was done with… this, and her gut wasn’t turning over every other minute from nerves.

Solas took the stairs at an even pace, then continued on through the cellar, making several twists and turns until she found themselves at the door of the old, rarely-used library and he motioned her inside. She had asked to have it cleaned and inventoried some weeks ago, but dust still coated every surface and cobwebs clung to the shelves. It obviously wasn’t high on anyone’s priority list.

But it was private, at least. Very, very private.

Evelyn swallowed thickly.

Solas lit a wisp of veilfire in the aged candleholder on the desk as she closed the door. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she focused on the emerald hues playing across the walls from the magical light to calm herself. It was quiet there, and she could hear each soft footstep as Solas lit several more holders, till the room was fully illuminated, shadows flickering only in the deepest nooks. Then he at last turned to her.

“I hope this is not too… isolated,” he began slowly. “I merely wished to ensure the secrecy of anything that we might discuss. If you’d rather meet somewhere more public, I understand.”

“No, this is fine,” Evelyn replied.

He looked to the two chairs tucked into the corner of the room. “If you would like…?”

But Evelyn shook her head. “I think I’d actually prefer to stand,” she said with a weak smile. “Riding these past several days, you know.” The excuse rang hollow even to her ears.

But Solas only nodded. “Very well.”

The both of them hesitated once more then, another moment disguised as simply taking a breath. Evelyn’s chest fluttered – and again she admonished herself, that she was a reasonable adult and could _talk_ – and she brushed the cobwebs from the least-covered bookshelf before leaning against it. When she looked back, Solas had done likewise with the desk, fingers coiled loosely around the edge on either side of his hips. The veilfire danced against his form, casting highlights against his arms, his chest, the high cheekbones of his face, his full lips.

_Open in a silent moan, his head tipped back, the dim light spilling across his neck, down his shoulders, and further to where he—_

Evelyn jerked herself from her reverie.

 _Maker’s arse, just get it out already_ , she chided herself. The worst he could do was reject her.

The mere thought of it hurt more than she liked to admit.

Evelyn took a deep breath, then began: “Solas, I’m not sure how to say this, but I’ve had some time to think, and… Ever since I saw you in your bedroom and, well, you know—” There his eyes widened, and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but she held up a hand to stop him. “Please, let me finish. Then you can say whatever you wish.

“I don’t mean to put you on the spot with this. You can tell me no, that you’d prefer I didn’t. I’d understand,” she continued. “It’s just – by the Flames, I’m being ridiculous – but I just can’t stop thinking about you. About more. I think I might—” The words tangled in her throat, each one too much, of years of all the things she _couldn’t_ , and she swallowed again and stared down at the floor. “I-I think,” she tried again, “I feel more for you than I’d thought. As more than just a friend. As more than… anything.”

The words hung in the air, and she was at once relieved to have them out and sicker than she could ever recall feeling. As the silence stretched, however, the latter grew.

Then Solas answered, “I know.”

Evelyn looked up again at that. “What?” she said. “How did you—”

And then she remembered – the wondering, the doubt, how _real_ it had all felt, and she’d simply _assumed_ … She stared at Solas, mortification trickling down her neck like icy drops with each realization.

Solas’ expression grew pained. “You weren’t aware.”

“I thought it was a dream,” she breathed.

“It was,” he said, “but only in a sense. I was intrigued when you first came to me, to see how far the Anchor had drawn you across the Fade. I’d thought to question you as any other of our nighttime meetings, but…” His eyes creased in regret, and he ran a hand over his face. “It wasn’t until after that I began to suspect you may not have had as much control, and I… I am so sorry. I did not mean to take advantage of you.”

“ _Take advantage?_ ” Evelyn replied, near-sputtering. “Solas, _I_ kissed you!”

“And you had no idea of the true weight of it,” he countered, his eyes flashing with anger – not at her, but at himself. “It was my responsibility to tell you, but instead I thoughtlessly encouraged you.”

“Maker’s breath, Solas, what ‘encouragement’? I was practically groping you already!”

“And that does not change that I should’ve known, that I should’ve—”

“Should’ve _what_? Stopped me from wanting?”

“Yes! Wanting when you _didn’t know_.”

“Well, I _know now_ and I _still_ want you, so what do you say to that?”

Solas’ lips parted, but nothing came, his breath a hint of heat against her face, and only then did she realize how close they’d come as they argued. They stood but half a pace apart in the center of the room, close enough to see the freckles on his flushed cheeks, to see every minute emotion roiling in his gaze, to easily reach out and touch. He closed his mouth, then opened it, then again several more times, each time a harder, slower breath billowing out. His grey-blue eyes softened, then warmed and melted, glimmering with want.

But he stood still as ice, as if even a tremor might shatter him.

Then, finally, Evelyn broke that last, unspoken barrier, drawing a hand out and across his opposite one, then over his wrist, and it was like watching water spill over. He sighed, a heavy, shuddering sound, and shut his eyes, leaning into her touch ever more as her hand wound up his arm, across his shoulder, and up to cup his cheek. He turned his face into it, his breath hot and slow against her wrist.

“Evelyn,” he whispered at last. “Evelyn, I…”

“Shh, it’s all right,” she soothed. “It’s all right. We can start again – here, now. So, please, I want you, Solas, and I want to try, if you’ll have me, if you want this, too.”

He released another ragged breath. “It has been so long…”

She cupped his face between both of her hands, and his eyes opened, the depths of a sea whirling within. An echo of the time in the Fade, but now he was wholly real and here, filling her senses with warmth and the smell of pine, parchment, and _him_.

But this time she didn’t know who drew close first. She only knew the feel of him, the sight of him, filling her world ever more, till she found herself tilting her head and her eyes slipping shut, and—

He was warm. So very, very warm.

Against her lips, against her hands as she wound them behind his neck and pulled him closer, as his own hands wound up her waist and to her back, drawing her tight against him. He held her to him as if she were the only thing that mattered in that moment, as though she were the center upon which the universe spun. And, in all honesty, she felt much the same with him, clinging to him, breathing him in deep and full, the warmth and weight of him too wonderful for words.

They broke, briefly, heaving for air. But even that felt too far right then, and Evelyn dragged him back, this time softer, sweeter, savoring the feel of his lips, the heat of his body, even the press of the jawbone pendant against her chest. A small noise – part frustration, part want – escaped his throat at the light, teasing touches, and she laughed – the first it’d felt like she’d had in ages – against his lips.

Then when next they broke, Solas fisted a hand in her hair and drew her firm against his mouth, his tongue sweeping a line against her lips. It caught her off-guard, and when she stumbled back, he followed—

Right into the shelves, which cascaded dust down on them.

They parted, coughing and brushing the dirt from themselves, and hurried away. Evelyn hoped there hadn’t been an actual spider still lingering about in the cobwebs. She eyed a particularly thick strand of the stuff with disgust as she plucked it off her shoulder.

 _Well, what a way to end that_ , she inwardly groused.

Worse yet, though, was when she turned to find Solas nearly backed against the desk once more, his eyes again guarded as he swept the grime from his clothes.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to…”

“It’s all right, Solas. Nothing to worry about,” Evelyn soothed, offering him a soft smile. She took several steps toward him, but then he did truly back himself against the desk, a hand grasping for purchase against the edge, and she stopped. “What is it, Solas? Did I go too far?”

“No. No, it was nothing you did,” he replied. “It’s not… This was never supposed to…” His expression crumbled again, just slightly, and he looked away. He took a heavy breath, then added more steadily, “I am not certain this is the best idea. It could lead to trouble.”

Again Evelyn stepped toward him, and when he did not retreat, she leaned against the desk beside him. “I’m willing to take that chance,” she said, “if you are.”

He took another breath. “I… Yes. If I could take a little time to think. There are… considerations.”

She drew her hand over his on the desk and squeezed, a short, gentle touch that sent a soft sigh through his frame before she pulled away. “Of course, Solas. Take all the time you need.”

His eyes met hers, still warm but quieter, and he nodded. “Thank you.”

They lapsed into a silence then, the moment cooled but unknowing quite how to end it. Evelyn’s eyes dipped down to Solas’ lips again – their soft, tempting curves an increasingly familiar sight – and even considered kissing him again, damn the stray bits of dust slipping down her collar. It had been so long since she’d last truly kissed someone, much less like _that_. Heat still simmered in her veins, burning in her chest.

But she wouldn’t push Solas, never like that. She forced her gaze away.

“I will stay for some minutes more,” Solas at last volunteered, and she nearly sighed in relief at the broken quiet. “I need some time to… collect myself. Perhaps we can speak further in the morning?”

“Certainly, Solas,” Evelyn replied and straightened. She brushed herself off again with a weak grin. “I should probably take a bath after all that, anyway.”

Out of the corner of her eye Solas stiffened, then shifted his legs as he looked away once more. “I… Of course. Good night.” He paused. “Evelyn.”

“Good night, Solas.”

She glanced at him a final time, worry aching in her at his rigid posture, but still she nodded and left, shutting the door behind herself. She walked some paces away, then stopped and fell back against the wall with a rush of a breath.

Maker, she’d just kissed _Solas_.

Twice, if one counted the time in the Fade as well. The thought sent her head spinning. She still didn’t entirely know what she’d gotten herself into. She had no experience with this, with heady, lingering moments in a secret room, only rushed dalliances in the dark.

But… she knew she wanted to try.

With a slow, steadying inhalation, she straightened and carried herself back to the main hall, dragging her fingers through her hair to return some semblance of order. Perhaps, if no one looked very closely, her flushed face and disheveled state would pass by without any the wiser. Though she held no shame being with Solas – indeed, _couldn’t_ , her heart still beating so hard in her chest – she had no desire to endanger him with such a close connection to herself. Even more so if he was uncertain.

She heaved a sigh at that. _Uncertain_ – she wondered how long he would be, already at once hoping for and dreading his decision.

Then she walked up the last step, turned the corner, and nearly bumped into Dorian.

“My goodness, Inquisitor, fancy meeting you here,” he said.

Evelyn crossed her arms. “Dorian…”

“What? I’ll have you know I hang around corridors like this one all the time,” he sniffed. Then he glanced over her with a growing smirk, and another flush swept across her face. “Well, I guess I don’t need to ask how things went, nor why Solas was acting more anxious for your return than Cassandra for the next Swords and Shields chapter. It’s about time. I was just about to suggest a betting pool.”

Evelyn started, staring at him. “He— I—” She breathed deep. So that was what Dorian had tried to tell her earlier about Solas. “We’re not talking about it. Not yet. And that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

Dorian huffed. “Sounds like things didn’t go nearly well enough. And no chess either, I suppose?”

“No, just cleaning up and some rest, I think,” she said, with a glance to her clothing.

Then her stomach growled.

She sheepishly pressed a hand to her middle. “All right, and something to eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sure, Solas, just ramp up the UST. I'm sure that'll fix everything.


End file.
